A Dream Before Cryogenic Sleep
by Kerichi
Summary: In Wakanda, the night before he returns to cryo-sleep, Bucky has a talk with Steve and a dream about Natasha. (Civil War)
Bucky stood at the window long after darkness shrouded the Wakandan jungle. After tomorrow, who knew how much time would pass before he enjoyed the view again? Not that he was a huge fan of nature that wasn't a beach crowded with girls in bikinis, but this was something more. A symbol of freedom. Asylum.

The door to the room slid open.

Steve stood outside holding a dinner tray, his right foot lifted slightly. He lowered his boot. "This place is too high tech for me," he said with a wry smile as he entered the patient room off the lab. "I was gonna kick your door for old times' sake." He placed the tray on the low table between comfortable lounge chairs. "Every time I came over, your mom greeted me with a tray of snacks, and you played records so loud I had the kick the door to make you open it."

"She was trying to put meat on your bones," Bucky said. He sat in the chair with his back to the window instead of the door. "And I could always eat."

"You remember that?"

Steve's goofy smile hadn't changed. "Bits and pieces, some more than others."

"What about Ferdinando's Foccaceria?" Steve's smile became a grin. "Is that why you chose spaghetti and meatballs? You're still razzing me about splattering red sauce on your dates?"

 _I can't cut steak with one hand._ "One of the girls was for you." He was pretty sure double dating had been a big thing back then. The name Ferdinando's sounded familiar. "Was the restaurant on Union Street?"

"Still there. Nothing's changed. Same food, same black and white photographs on the walls."

Bucky balanced the plate on his knee and used the side of his fork to cut into a meatball.

"They play Sinatra hits on a loop." Steve paused, and then asked, "Need any help?"

Bucky said, "I'm not a one-legged man. I can still win an ass kicking contest." He narrowed his eyes meaningfully.

Steve snickered. "But can you juggle?"

Bucky put down his fork to give his old buddy the finger.

After Steve quit chuckling, they ate in silence for a while. Bucky appreciated the company. Appreciated everything Steve had done for him, gave up for him. Captain America had relinquished his shield.

"Got a text from Sam today," Steve said after clearing his plate. He lifted an eyebrow. "Why the frown? Still holding a grudge because he wouldn't adjust the seat to give you legroom?"

Bucky said, "I was crammed into the back of a Volkswagen, and I'm taller than he is."

"By what? An inch? Let it go. Sam asked me to give you a message."

"He's going to drink a frozen drink and get brain freeze in my honor."

Steve shook his head, but his eyes were laughing. "He'll flip a coin for the front seat next time."

"I'm driving next time."

"Deal."

The look on Steve's face was one Bucky had seen every time his friend geared up for another round of "you don't have to do this." Steve was like one of those bumper cars at Coney Island. If one way got blocked, he backed up and nudged you from a different direction. A distraction was in order. Bucky asked, "Do you have one of those internet phones?"

Steve's eyebrows rose. "Yeah. T'Challa's head of security handed them out. I have one for you if you want it."

Bucky shook his head. "Could you look something up for me?"

"Sure." Steve took his mobile phone out of his pocket. "What is it?"

"Fullmetal Alchemist and East European Comic Con."

Steve gave a yelp of laughter. _"What?"_

"Forget it."

"No way. This is a story I've got to hear." Steve tapped his phone. "Is Fullmetal two words or just one?"

"One, I think."

More tapping, and then Steve turned the phone to reveal the image of an anime character with a long blond braid and a metal arm. Bucky said, "A server in a Bucharest bar saw my hand and asked if I was going to Comic Con as this guy."

"Was the server female and a redhead?" Steve asked.

"She might have been."

Steve started messing with the phone again. "Comic Con is a convention where fans, artists, and celebrities get together. Tony talked me into attending one in San Diego to improve the Avengers' public image. I sat at a table signing autographs and taking pictures with fans all day." He chuckled. "Stan Lee dropped by. He created the Destroyer for Mystic Comics back in '41 and served stateside during the war. Remember the "VD? Not me!" training poster? He drew it. Funny guy." Steve handed Bucky the phone. "Here are some images of last year's East European Comic Con."

Bucky saw fans in costumes. Fans packed into the Romexpo arena, crowded around exhibits.

 _Crowds._ He'd wear a wig with a long braid before he'd stand in a crowd where attack could come from any side, where trigger words could turn innocent lives into collateral damage. He returned the phone. "Thanks."

"Any time." Steve held up the screen. "Sure you want to miss out on the fun? T'Challa would understand if you changed your—"

"No." He was going back into cryo-sleep. The fantasy of walking into Comic Con and meeting up with a pretty redhead was just something to take his mind off grim reality. He said, "If Sam sent you a text, what about Sharon? Did she leave a voice message? Send _pictures_?" He smirked.

"Why would she send pictures? It hasn't been that long since . . . . " Steve's voice trailed away as he flushed. "Are you talking about nude pictures? Women do that?"

"So I've heard. People say a lot of crazy shit when they think no one's listening."

"Why did you go to bars?" The shock in Steve's expression had been replaced with curiosity. "We can't get drunk."

"My apartment didn't come with a television."

"Malarkey. You still like people. Bucky Barnes was always the life of the party."

"Not anymore."

"But you still like _some_ people."

The former pipsqueak turned Enhanced human was the same sappy guy he'd always been. "One or two people," Bucky said. "Two, if you leave me alone to get some sleep."

"You're going to do that tomorrow."

"Out."

Thankfully, Steve wasn't dense. He got the hint that Bucky wanted to be alone with his thoughts and picked up the tray. "Who's the other person you like?"

"It isn't Sam."

"A redhead?"

Not the girl Steve probably thought it was, but still. "Yeah."

"Oh, I see." The goofy smile was back. "Pleasant dreams."

.

As Bucky completed his nightly routine of sit ups, pushups, showering, and brushing his teeth, he thought about the dreams he'd had in the past. Hydra taught lucid dreaming for training purposes. The Winter Soldier relived his missions, critiqued his performance, and learned from any miscalculations. Once he was on his own, Bucky used his ability to realize he was dreaming and remain conscious in the dream state, controlling the dream, to re-experience moments from his past. He'd never tried to create a dream set in the present.

Bucky used breathing techniques to relax while he imagined sitting on a bench outside the Romexpo arena. He allowed fatigue to pull his body into sleep.

He woke up inside a dream.

.

Fans in bright, outlandish costumes rushed past his bench, eager to reach Comic Con.

"Where's your blond wig?" a woman asked as she sat down next to Bucky.

He glanced to his left. "Where's your Avengers suit, Natasha?"

"You remember me now. I'm flattered." She smiled. "Apparently, you've been thinking about me in this outfit." She stroked the lapel of her black leather jacket and smoothed her hand down the thigh of her tight black jeans.

"It's nice," he said gruffly.

"You acknowledge that, at least," she replied. When he shifted to look directly at Natasha, her lips curved. "Impossible not to, I guess, after you experienced this ensemble up close." Her eyes teased. "What created the passion for fashion? The kicks from my tall boots, or the way I looked flat on my back on a table?"

The old Bucky would have told her it was the way she'd felt pinned beneath him. He said, "That wasn't sexual."

"I know. At the time, it was all adrenaline and mission focus. Take down the enemy." She gave a husky laugh. "The sex on the table fantasies came later."

 _Don't think about it_ became his new mantra.

Her knee nudged his. "You're missing another part of your costume."

Bucky shrugged. He could still do that with a stump. "If I don't have a cybernetic arm, I can't use it to crush a beautiful woman's throat."

"That's . . . weirdly sweet." Natasha lifted a hand to brush her fingertips over the material covering his stump. "I think what you really want is to be seen as Bucky, not someone else's creation."

"I'm both," he said. "They couldn't wipe out Bucky, and I can't kill the Winter Soldier."

"Maybe you should stop trying."

"I can't. I'm not like you." She'd made the choice to leave the past behind and use her Black Widow training to do good in the world. He was a puppet waiting for trigger words to pull his strings.

"Not _yet_."

Did she always have to have the last word? " _Nyet_."

Natasha bumped her shoulder into his. "OK, OK, if you don't want to continue our heart to heart, what do you want to do? Go to Comic Con?"

He shook his head.

She raised her wrist and tapped her watch with a finger. "We're kinda on the clock, Bucky. If there's something you want to do with me—" Natasha broke off as the world blurred around them. Once it came back into focus, they were standing in his Bucharest apartment. She looked around and said, "There's a lot of natural light."

"I used to draw in here for hours."

Natasha tilted her head, plainly curious. "You and Steve took art class together. I remember. He told me you dreamed about creating comics."

"That ended when Steve wanted my character to be his teenaged sidekick."

She gave him a once over. "You could've rocked a pair of red tights."

"I prefer red hair."

Her emerald eyes gleamed. "Steve mentioned that too." She walked over to counter and started to pick up the memory book.

"Don't."

"I just want to see your drawings."

A spark of hope flickered to life inside him. "You like art?"

Natasha's laugher shook her entire body. "I'm _Russian,_ " she said. "Might as well ask if I like vodka."

Bucky made a decision. The room they stood in changed into a sunlit painter's studio. It wasn't a lavish space. Completed canvases stacked against a wall. An old art cabinet, a wood table speckled with paint, and his latest abstract drying on an easel. "The apartment is where I slept," he said. "This is where I lived."

Natasha stood in front of the easel. "The way the black penetrates the red definitely creates an emotional response." She quirked an eyebrow. "What do you call it? Table sex?"

"Longing."

In two strides, she closed the distance between them. "This guy," she said, before pressing her lips to his in an achingly soft kiss. "This is the guy I want to meet again someday."

"What about Banner?"

"Steve told you about him." Natasha lifted her chin. "Would the old Bucky Barnes or the Winter Soldier be scared off by a little competition?"

The Hulk was gigantic competition. "No."

"Don't forget it," she said, leaning into him as she twined her arms around her neck. Natasha rose up on tiptoes to gaze into his eyes. "And when you come see me, bring the painting and a bottle of vodka." Her face was so close that when she smiled, her mouth grazed his chin. "I like poetry too."

Back in high school, his art teacher had quoted Kandinsky as saying abstract painting required an artist to draw well, have heightened sensitivity for composition and color, and be a poet. Bucky had never written a poem in his life, but in his desire to be a true artist, he'd read them. He slid his arm around Natasha. "There once was a girl from Stalingrad." He smiled when she snorted. "Not that kind of poem? I'll try again." He said in Russian, "Amid the worlds, 'mid luminaries' gleam, one Star I know whose name I keep repeating."

Natasha sighed.

The rise and fall of her breasts made Bucky forget the next lines of the poem. He skipped them and went on. "And when oppressive doubt I have to fight, her answer only have I sought and heeded. It's not that She is emanating light: It's that with Her around no light is needed."

"Innokenty Annensky." Her voice transformed the poet's name into words of seduction. She sighed again. "Star has no gender in English, but Russians know better."

" _Zvezda,_ " he murmured. "My star."

"Yes?" she asked dreamily.

He grinned. "We're kinda on the clock. If there's something you want to do with me . . . ."

She kissed him.

.

* * *

.

A/N: There's a Captain America comic where Bucky and Steve take an art class together, so I used that as inspiration for Bucky spending his time in Bucharest painting. Abstract art seemed to fit him, since his character holds viewers' attention and generates an emotional response. :D Bucky was first written as a teenaged sidekick in red tights, and Stan Lee grew sick of teenaged sidekicks (probably why he originally killed him off!). Lucid dreaming is known not only for the dreamer being self-aware and in control, but also for the dreamer remembering his or her dream afterward. I wanted Bucky to remember his fantasy encounter with Natasha and use the memory to man up and give Banner competition when he woke from cryogenic sleep. In the comics, Bucky and Natasha had a relationship when they were training to be Russian operatives, and also dated when he became Captain America, so my imagined onscreen/offscreen chemistry has canon roots. ;)

Special thanks to everyone who reviewed my first Civil War story **Trigger Words**. Your comments about Bucky's life in Bucharest, the story's bittersweet tone, and Comic Con inspired this one. _Ogromnoe spasibo_ ( Thank you very much)!


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